


Stay Calm.

by sporkkles_irl



Category: Epithet Erased (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, Flamethrower Has An Epithet, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, M/M, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Post-Canon, Psychological Trauma, Self-Harm, Self-Indulgent, Unintentional Self-Harm??, basically me and the boys rp'd as the Boys once and it all went downhill from there, flames has tinnitus AND depression now!! can you believe it??, psa im not a psychologist i have no idea if this is accurate or not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23474590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sporkkles_irl/pseuds/sporkkles_irl
Summary: Flamethrower isn't as over the Blasters as he seems. Turns out he's not over a lot of things!
Relationships: Dark Star/Flamethrower, Flamethrower & Sylvester "Sylvie" Ashling
Kudos: 7





	Stay Calm.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so me and the boys gave them all names so uh here's a key?  
Andrew - Flamethrower  
Neil - Dark Star  
Pepper - Spike  
Ed - Crusher  
alright have a good time reading my 1 am angst fest

Andrew couldn’t breathe. Well, he could, but it was so very difficult. A strained wheeze made its way out of him.  _ In, out, in, out, just like how Fred told you. _ He exhaled nothing.

He could barely hear anything, the familiar ringing overcoming all the other sounds that might’ve been present. It was so loud. The tone was simple, and the torture was perfect.  He could tell the frost had grown over him, and yet he felt way too hot. His Epithet boiled inside him, sucking and pulling away at his core. He gasped for air.  _ Please. Make it stop. I just want it to stop. _   
His lungs were on the verge of caving in. The tone cut through his brain, lighting it up with waves of pain. His eyes could take it no more. Tears flowed from them, as he curled up, hugging himself. He shut them tight.

  
(The door opened.)

** He’s here.**

**  
** Andrew barely registered the change of lighting before flinching and shaking ever harder.  **He’s here and you’re gonna get what you deserve. ** He dug his encased fingers into his shoulders, cocooning himself even more.  **You bad kid. You deserve this.** The metal, superheated from his Epithet, burned into his skin.  **You made them all hurt. ** He cried, or gasped, or screamed, but didn’t pull them away, didn’t remove them, only clung harder as the smell of burning flesh wafted up around him.  **Now it’s your turn.**

(Hands grabbed at his own, prying them off.)

** Are you ready?**

Andrew yelled and flailed around, trying to shake off the attacker. Because that’s who they were. They were here to hurt him. They always were.

(They pinned him down after a bit of struggle.)

The tone rang ever louder. Andrew screamed and cried and tugged and tried everything to free himself, but no, he couldn’t, just like with the braces,  **just like with the room-**

He collapsed, gave up,  **like he always did.**

His heart was beating so fast. He felt every emotion at once. He froze and burned and hurt and healed-and died.

He hadn’t-couldn’t- _ wouldn’t?  _ Breathe. Everything was spinning. His heart hammered, and tears fell, and frost grew. His head pounded with that blasted tone. His arms tingled, nerves fried and scarred.

And yet...through it all...he felt...comfort.  **Wait. No. That is wrong. Where’s dad to lock you out? Where’s Captain to hit you? ** A hand ran through his hair. A familiar hand.

** NO! THIS IS YOUR PUNISHMENT! YOU CAN- ** The ringing quieted. He felt someone lying on top of him, keeping him still. He felt the hand, methodically petting him, calming him.

He could breathe. It was pitiful, the gasp, the choke, the swallow, but he was already a pitiful thing. He cried for a long time, trying to see, trying to see who had saved him.

The tone lessened to nothing.

“-kay, it’ll be okay, just breathe, just breathe, okay, Andy? Okay, it’s okay-”

_ Neil. My...Shooting Star.  _

…

He breathed, erratically at first, but ever so slightly slowed down as the minutes trucked by. He closed his eyes again, they weren’t just out of tears yet, and threw a stinging arm around his...savior.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s okay, ssh. Sshh.” Neil whispered, not even bothering with gamer-speech. This was...too important. He didn’t know exactly how to calm Andrew, but he certainly tried, and it seemed to have worked. At least a little. So that’s what he did.

* * *

Andrew couldn’t-or wouldn’t-talk for a long, long while, opting instead to just sit on the floor and let Pepper and Ed bandage him up, and endure countless hugs and tears and questions from the rest of the team. He eventually ended up at the center of a massive blanket depository/napping spot, the bodies of his previously conscious friends surrounding him.

He was so exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and forget the day ever happened, but…

He pulled out his phone.

**🔥 fireyeeter🔥: **Hey Doc?

**DocAsh:** Yes?

**🔥 fireyeeter🔥: ** Might need that therapy session sooner than planned

**Author's Note:**

> well it's good to be back i gotta say. now watch as i dont post anything for the next eight months


End file.
